He waited for a few minutes, then descended the steps two at a time. The secluded bathrooms of the Sphinx were nestled on the lower level of the restaurant beside a private dining room. Inconvenient for most guests but ideal for his purposes.
A dim light glowed from underneath one of the bathroom doors. He twisted the knob and entered, locking the door behind him. “No sign of Christos. You didn’t mess with our timing, did you?” Xi-Ping pushed at his chest with open palms, pinning him against the wall.
“Handle your end, and I’ll handle mine.” He pulled off her hair clasp so her long, dark tresses covered her bare shoulders. He kissed her hard. Goose bumps rippled down her sleek arms.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she said. “I’m the boss now.” She dropped to her knees and unzipped his tuxedo pants.
Hardly. But he played along with the game. He ensnared a handful of hair and pulled her close. Her silky mouth enveloped him, her tongue snaking down his shaft. Heat pulsated through his capillaries. A fine sheen of sweat covered his forehead.
But the call he’d received earlier kept running through his mind.
Had he been foiled so close to the endgame? He’d planned so carefully, considering every possibility—except one.
Xi-Ping licked hungrily, devouring him with her full lips. Still, he felt a slight softening.
Whatever had happened, he’d find a way to exact his revenge. He was Ares, and Ares was unstoppable.
He ground her face into his pelvis. Thrusting into her mouth, he hardened again. She grabbed his glutes, sinking her nails through his pants, digging into his flesh. He flexed as he stabbed faster and faster, blocking out everything but the euphoria of the moment.
He ripped her head away and yanked her to her feet. Excitement mounted inside him.
She slapped him. He grabbed her wrist, slamming her body against the door. Her fingers clawed at his shirt. He pushed her away, spun her around to face the sink, hiking the long skirt above her waist. He ripped off her lace thong and plunged inside her.
His muscular arms wrapped around her body, and his fingers twisted her nipples hard. He lost himself in her intoxicating scent. A loud moan escaped her lips. He pounded harder, starting to crest the wave.
She bit his arm, hard. Bitch. He tightened his hold and clamped a hand over her nose and mouth. Sounds in the bathroom next door distracted him. He couldn’t afford to be caught with her.
He pinned her against him. Unable to breathe, she squirmed and bucked beneath him. White light flashed in his vision as he reached a crescendo. He remained silent, controlled, like a sniper in his hide. The waves of pleasure slowly rippled away, bringing him back to awareness.
The toilet flushed in the other bathroom, and the occupant departed. Ares removed his hand from Xi-Ping’s face. Her desperate inhalation made a loud, rasping sound. She sank to the floor, chest heaving. Her hair was a tangled mess, her makeup smeared, but the corners of her full lips turned upward in a smile.
He rinsed off in the sink, zipped up his pants, and straightened his bow tie.
“Where’s Christos? I thought we were securing him at the negotiations in Zimbabwe.”
He assessed her face, trying to determine if she’d had anything to do with the premature grab, but her unfathomable gaze held no answers. “Everything is fine.” Then she looked at him intently and sighed. “That was the best yet. It’s never been like this with anyone else, Nikos.”
Xi-Ping was one of only a handful of people who knew about his two personas: Nikos, son of the great Christos Paris; and his alter ego, Ares, an arms dealer and kidnapper who was on a first-name basis with revolutionaries from war-torn countries on three continents. A calculated risk, as she had more to lose than he did by divulging his secrets.
Chapter Thirteen
Thea’s bloodstained stiletto rested on the hotel room desk, a grisly memento. Extensive hand-to-hand combat training could never fully prepare anyone for the raw desperation of a real fight: intense, primal. She’d had to make a choice: kill or be killed.
Rif seemed less affected by the attack, his demeanor calm. The time he’d spent in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Africa had hardened him to violence. When they were children, he’d been an adventurous, rambunctious boy, exploring the outdoors, hiking and fishing wherever he could. That carefree side of him had been extinguished by his experience in Chad, and a darkness seemed to ride his shoulders now.